


A Real Dandy & a Charmer

by Talkin_to_a_Lady



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Shyness, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24506581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talkin_to_a_Lady/pseuds/Talkin_to_a_Lady
Summary: When a young Arthur Morgan swaggers about town, it takes a knowing country girl to call out his bravado.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Kudos: 15





	A Real Dandy & a Charmer

**Author's Note:**

> Pure Fluff.
> 
> 17-year-old Arthur is all talk. And he finally meets his match when you invite him to a dance.

“Ladies!”  
Arthur saunters through town and nods to any and every woman he passes, regardless of their chaperone. As much as the ever-increasing size of Illinois felt suffocating to the Gang, there was something to be said for the new women to men ratio in its borders.  
Dutch had sent the boy out on errands for goods and groceries. Within the last two hours he had already managed to steal a man’s wallet, use it to buy a beer, get in a fight and run from a lawman after kicking him up the ass.  
“ _It is a **beautiful**_ **_day_** _!_ ” he grinned as the sun shone through the dim clouds, highlighting a woman’s particularly well garmented behind as she steps out in front of him.  
“Mind your manners, young man!” the woman in question scolds as she turns to him with a face like thunder, “A boy like you is never too old for a slap!”  
He smirks and raises an intrigued eyebrow, “I’m sure I’d appreciate it too, Ma’am.” His charms seemed to miss their target as the woman proceeds to batter him across the head and over his shoulders with her parasol.  
Suddenly he feels a strong hand at his shirt collar and the familiar smoothness of his mentor’s voice, “I am so sorry, Miss, this urchin, _despite all my attempts_ , is a dim-witted, irksome pain at times.” Arthur lifts his head up as the violence subsides; still caught in Dutch’s grasp, he looks at the interaction between the adults; the woman so hell-bent on knocking him out was now the picture of sweetness as she swooned over the charms of Mister Van der Linde, “Oh! Oh sir, well, you know, I’m sure you try your best for your son.”  
 _SON?!_ Arthur twists his head with a vague look of disgust at Dutch as the man keeps him quiet with one swift, firm shake.  
“ _Your wife must be so glad of you_.” She purrs as she fans herself lightly to hide her blush.  
“I’m sure she would be, _if there was one_.” Arthur cringed as he was stood prisoner between the two flirts.  
“ _UrghI_ ” he rolled his eyes and shivered, bringing the two back to the world, producing another scowl from the curvaceous beauty in front of them.  
With another hard shove, collar still in his hand Dutch continued, “Anyway, my apologies once again, Miss,” Dutch doffs his hat with a small bow which coaxes a giggle from his intended, “I shall remove this _rambunctious buffoon_ from your day.” Arthur stands up straight and bristles himself free as the woman sways her hips away with a backwards glance to Dutch.  
“ _Thanks for nothin_ ’.” Arthur sulks as he brushes his shirt back down.  
“Nothing was all that was, Arthur,” Dutch laughs, “you think that getting beaten up by a delightful woman like that is _something?_ ”  
“Shut up… What’re ya doin’ here?”  
“Other than preventing you from ending your life _prematurely_?” Dutch teased as he pushed Arthur forward by the shoulder, “we’re meeting Hosea and Bessie at the Saloon… or had you forgotten due to _distractions_?” Arthur huffed and shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets, kicking the cobbles as they walked on.  
“I see your addled brain seems to have lagged on picking up supplies as well?”  
“ _I ain’t a pack horse_!” he mumbled, still annoyed by his public humiliation.  
“ _No,_ but you are someone who people rely on, _Arthur_.” Dutch sighs, “And you made a promise.”  
“ _Fiiiinnne_. I know, I’m sorry. Guess you shoulda expected as much _from a buffoon!_ ”  
“Oh for goodness sake, Arthur! You would’ve preferred to be hospitalised back there?”  
“I coulda talked my way outta it!”  
“Considering you talked your way into it, I wish I hadn’t stepped in now.” Dutch chuckled as they arrived at the Saloon, “Honestly, I’d have thought that Saloon Girl last year would’ve matured you at least a little!”  
“Huh, yeah…” Arthur finally shut his mouth up, he blushed; it had taken the Saloon Girl everything not to laugh in his face when he had stood in that room with her; frozen in panic, backing away from her hand at every reach, until she had pitied him and just sat with him, his head on her fully clothed chest as he apologised and begged her not to mention that nothing had happened. He followed Dutch inside towards a waving Hosea sitting at the table with Bessie.  
“What took you fellas so long?” Hosea handed them a bottle of beer each.  
“ _Someone_ was busy trying his luck with a woman beyond his means and neglecting to pick up our provisions.”  
Arthur huffed into his beer as Hosea kindly patted his back, “Oh, Dutch, he’s just seventeen. I’m sure you remember the thoughts running around in your head when you were a teenager.”  
“Well, I guess I was a little more _successful_ ,” Dutch chortled as he leaned back in his seat and lit a fat cigar.  
“Don’t you mind them, Arthur,” Bessie smiled kindly, “they’re just bitter that you still have your youthfulness.” She winked and it made him laugh; Bessie always had his corner in these matters, “Your problem is you keep listening to these _fools_.” She nudged her husband as he drank his glass of whiskey, “Maybe just try girls your own age, huh? And don’t try and match Dutch’s… _special brand of romance_.”  
After two more bottles to drown his sorrows, the four departed; Bessie, Hosea and Dutch heading back to Camp, while Arthur was tasked with completing his errands for the day and having to make his own way home on his horse.  
Despite the beer and Bessie’s pep-talk energising his confidence again, he decided to focus himself on the jobs he’d promised to do. If he was smart, he could save a little money and head back to the Saloon. He made his way to the cheaper side of town, to the black-market area they used to sell their ill-gotten wares. He knew of a small general store that tended to practically give their stocks away.  
As he stood in line, he scratched at his face; the roughness of stubble beginning to push through, he leaned towards a copper pan hanging up to check his reflection in its base; he rubbed his hands at his chin, squinting to make out the barest of shadows at his jaw line, and smirked as he decided he could indeed see something lurking there. He pulled the list from his pocket and scowled as he tried to make out Miss Grimshaw’s chicken scrawl handwriting, shuffling forward he keeps focused on the paper and mutters the order to the figure behind the counter as they scurry back and forth to get the produce finally wrapping it in a small hessian parcel.  
“That’s it, thanks,” he mumbles as he shoves the paper into his pocket, finally looking up to see a somewhat pretty girl of his age blushing at him behind the counter. She giggles the total price at him, and he grins as he hands her the bills, “Keep the change,” he winks, her face flushing full scarlet as he turns to leave, his walk a little taller again; he rubs the short gritty bristles across his face and laughs smugly. Outside, Arthur ties the parcel to his chestnut brown Quarter Horse, “C’mon, old man,” he coos to it with a loving slap, donning his father’s hat, “I think we’ve earned another drink.” He turns the steed in the opposite direction to the previous Saloon, and makes his way towards a dive bar close to the cotton mills; it was almost shift change, and there were a lot of interesting views to be had as the workers rolled out for a drink.

Another beer later, Arthur sits back and ponders what Bessie had said; that shop girl certainly acted interested, but she seemed silly; giggling for no reason and fidgeting around. The women Dutch always enticed were so much more grounded; perhaps because they were older. He swigged his beer, _girls ain’t nothin_ ’, he thought as he started to feel a little off balance. He checked his change and realised he only had money left for either food or a beer, there was no hesitation in his choice; he got up to order. As he leaned against the bar a throng of women came in chattering excitedly after their stint at the mills. He glances across at them as they occupy the benches by the windows; pink-skinned and vaguely dishevelled from the day. He turns away and swigs a large gulp from his bottle.  
The combination of alcohol and his brief luck with the girl earlier mixed into a somewhat dangerous cocktail as his bravado took over his common sense; one of the women broke free from the group to purchase two gins from the bar. Using the need to stretch his back as the limpest of excuses to check out her figure, he tapped the brim of his hat as she rolled her eyes at him, “Howwwdy, Maa’aam,” he lightly slurred, unfazed by her frosty reaction, “you loook like you had a roughff daay.” _That got her attention_ , he thinks as she turns to face him.  
“ _Excuse me?!_ ” she glares.  
“I’mm just sayinn’,” he scoots up to her, leaning casually on the bar as he moved, “you loook like youu been through it.”  
She folds her arms, “How old are you kid?”  
“Old enoughff,” he grins.  
“No you ain’t,” she scoffs, “else you’d know that tellin’ a lady she ain’t lookin’ her best was a _dangerous choice of words_.” She picks up her drink, “Beat it, I’m _way_ outta your age range.”  
“Age donnn’t mean nothin’ to me, Ma’aaammm.” He gives her a sly look as he clumsily drinks his beer.  
“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” she shakes her head and returns to the safety of her friends.  
Unperturbed by the rejection he chuckles and continues his beer, trying to make it last as long as he can.

“That boy is a jackass,” your friend Marie sits down handing you a gin, “Drunk, stumblin’ about… Do you know he told me I looked like I had a bad day?!”  
“But you have,” you chuckle as you eye the young man with an amused intrigue.  
“That ain’t the point!” Marie quaffs her drink, “I don’t need some cheeky kid tellin’ me that…! I think he thought it were a compliment.”  
You laugh and sit back eyeing him as he fidgets a little at the bar to stay standing, leaning into his beer, unsubtly glancing across to your friends. Jane makes a move to get a drink, “I got time for one, then I gotta go home, girls, she smiles, dinner ain’t gonna cook itself.”

Having drained his fifth beer of the day, Arthur was definitely feeling the effects. He beamed at the woman now approaching the bar, blind to the fact she veers quickly to a stop some distance away from him.  
“ _HEY LADY!_ ” he yells, “ _CANN I BUYY YOOUU A DRINK?_ ”  
The woman shuts her eyes for a moment and sighs, clenching her hands together as he sidles up to her with a wobble.  
“Look, Kid I ain’t interested in a drink from you.”  
“Well that’sss lucky, Misss,” he chuckles, “I ain’t actuallyyy got enoughff to get you onnne!”  
“So why offer?”  
He shrugged, “Sseeemmed the gentlemanlyyy thing to doo?”  
“Look, honey, I admire your grit, but I’m married.” She waves a hand in front of his face, her fingers leaving brief trails in the air making him woozy.  
“III don’t sseee your fellla anywhere,” he looks around over dramatically.  
“Also, I ain’t in the habit of dabblin’ with little boys.”  
Arthur raises a smug eyebrow and leans towards her, “Welll, lucky for yoouu I ain’t sssoo llittle.” As if the comment wasn’t enough, the wink that followed finished it.  
“You know what?” the woman turns to her friends, “I don’t need a drink. I‘m just gonna go.”

You were watching the unfortunate circus unfold before you with great hilarity.  
“ _Are all boys your age like this?_ ” Marie hisses with a disgusted tone.  
“Least he’s doin’ this drunk,” you shrug as you sip your gin, “most the boys back home try this sober.” You grin a little to yourself at this clown in front of you; he was handsome when his body briefly worked, and he was gunning for women so obviously uninterested that it made you think he was trying to fail. He was tall and slender with shoulders sticking out broadly. He had a slanted grin which looked like it lived on his strong jaw without the beer’s encouragement, and though he stood too close to your friends and spoke loud and inappropriately, there was an awkwardness about his stance that made it look like he was wrestling with the obnoxious character in charge of his words. The boys on your father’s farm were unruly and mouthy without the need for liquor, but there was something about this one, good looks aside, that interested you.  
You drain your glass and sneak up to the bar as he continued to harass Jane, “ _Can I get a bowl of stew please?_ " you slide 3 cents in a whisper to the barman to avoid detection.  
“Yes, Miss. Are you ladies alright? I apologise for the upstart, I can try and remove him if you like?”  
“ _No, I don’t think that’s necessary_ ,” you chuckle, “ _we’re all pretty capable of handlin’ ourselves!_ ”  
“That’s what I assumed.” He winks and heads off to the kitchen to get your order.  
You hear Jane declare angrily that she’s leaving, and join in the protests as she collects her jacket and heads for the door, your friends all glaring at the unsteady boy with his back to you as he adds to the boos, “Aaawww noooo, c’monnnn! Don’t be ssorrre!” Blissfully unaware of the multiple daggers being thrown in his direction, he turns back to the bar and hugs his empty bottle, his hat pulled low to his brow.

“Looks like you should eat somethin’.”  
A bowl of hot food slides under Arthur’s nose, the smell of which makes him feel a little nauseous, “I ain’t hungry.”  
“And **_I_** ain’t interested in you continuin’ to be such a hindrance to my friends’ relaxation.”  
It takes until your reprimand for him to realise that there was a woman talking to him. He drags his face up and sees you smirking at him. He stares open-mouthed from his slouched position; your face glowing with a lighter, more youthful complexion than the women he’d harassed. You still had the weathering of a day hard at work, but the sheen of perspiration glistened delicately across your brow.

You glance over to your friends as they mouth their confusion at your voluntary conversation with the idiot next to you, staring dumbly at your neck as you shush them right back.  
“Eat.” You command, turning your attention back to him, leaning against the bar as he shovels food into his mouth, following your direction with some bewilderment.  
It takes a lot to stop you from laughing at the sight of him; gravy streaked across his cheek as he rests on one hand while slopping a spoon into his mouth with the other, “You’ve worked hard to upset my friends today.”  
“mmI wass just bein’ ffriendly,” he mumbles through his food.  
You offer him a glass of water that the barman brings over, “well it don’t seem to have come across that way.”

Arthur drops his spoon and stands up, mid-chew, to take the glass from your hand. He’s uncomfortable; you stand beside him, unflinching and amused by his antics, a playful smile twitching at your rosy mouth. He gulps down the chunk of meat in his mouth and downs the water, his sobriety on the horizon. He couldn’t make you out; you were dressed in the same mill uniform as the other women – simple white blouse and long grey skirt, your hair tied back in a cloth – you spoke with a voice of experience and understanding, but you were a little shorter, less worn by the world than the others, and there was an energy in your voice.  
“What were you tryin’ to do?” you ask as he wipes his mouth, “clear the place to have it to yourself?”  
“Erm.. Well, I-“ he stutters, avoiding your gaze  
“Not a smart way for a boy to conduct himself.”  
“I ain’t a _boy_!”  
“Well you sure as shit act like one”  
Arthur clears his throat and nods, “I guess I ain’t so good at first impressions.” His eyes shift to your face as you finally let out a large belly laugh, he tightens his lips in a small smile. Your laugh wasn’t a giggle; it was a full, loud, brash guffaw; your cheeks redden with humour rather than bashfulness. He picked at his fingernails.  
“I’d say not, _Mister_!” you tease. This kid was no antagonist, not like the hands back at the farm, he was sweet for all his sins.  
He shrugs, “Gotta play the odds.” He mutters, pulling his hat off his head and scratching at his fluffy blonde hair with embarrassment. It’s the first time you really get to see his face; his eyes draw you immediately; shining and bright; a glistening mix of blue and green like woven silk, you can see where he got his confidence from, but his attitude now was vastly different from his initial conduct and it was staggering, it pushed you to make him squirm a little more.  
“So… You done playin’ the odds?” you lean on your hip as he furrows his brow at the empty stew bowl in confusion, “I mean, you’re welcome to try your luck with me.”

Arthur stops breathing; he’s pretty sure his heart has been forced violently into his throat, though it still punches his chest. No woman has ever said that to him, he feels the sweat creep through his hands. He tries to compose himself in a strained inhale, clears his throat and turns to you with an unnatural grin he believes is charming, “Well you hadn’t appeared at the bar yet.” He raises an eyebrow as he matches your lean at the bar.  
You roll your eyes and sigh with a smile, “You know, you would make a far more convincin’ _ladies man_ , if you washed your face.” You pick up the unused napkin that came with his food and sweep it firmly across the streak of gravy lying at his blushing cheek.  
“I’m Y/N.” you stick out a hand  
“A-Arthur.” He panics as he looks at your soft delicate fingers, his own hands clammy and not drying anytime soon. He wipes a hand across his chest and takes yours as you give him a strong handshake.  
“Nice to meet you, _Arthur_.” You beam at him, “There’s a dance outside of town this Friday. You should escort me to it.”  
“W-Wha-”  
“It’s to raise money for the farmers. My Father is holdin’ it in our barn. I live out by Mackinaw, at Mackie Ranch.”  
“O-Okay.” Arthur nods dumbly at you.  
You look up towards your friends who are laughing and shaking their heads. Through the window you see the blurred figure of your father appear with the cart and you head back to your friends to gather your things. “It starts at six. _Don’t forget now._ ”  
“I-I won’t! Dance. At Six. Friday. In Mackinaw. Mackie’s Farm.”  
“ _RANCH_!” you call, “ _And dress nice_.”  
Arthur’s eyes follow you out the door and see you hop into a cart, pecking your father on the cheek. He’s brought back to reality by the cackling coming from the gaggle of women at the window, “Nice work, _lover boy_!” he quickly picks his hat off the bar and strides out the door before his face grows any hotter. Perhaps he should make his way back to Camp.  
  
The journey back was a blur as Arthur tried to comprehend precisely what had happened; there wasn’t one point in that interaction between the two of you that he was on the right foot, yet you’d had the guts to pursue him. _Him of all people_. He hitched Tate to a post, pulled down the sack of goods and floated towards the voices at the campfire.  
“… And I felt it _prudent_ to make my exit at that moment!” Trelawny ended to a chorus of laughter.  
“There he is!” Dutch called through his cigar smoke, “What the hell took you so long, son?”  
“He’ll have been back at the bar. _Proving his manliness._ ” Hosea teased, one arm around Bessie.  
“Well I hope you got all the items we need, young man!” Susan Grimshaw snapped playfully, “The fellas told me of your _exploits_ earlier.”  
“Yeah, I got ‘em.” Arthur said lightly, dropping the parcel at his feet as he slumped on an old wine crate while Miss Grimshaw tutted and fussed around him.  
“You coulda _at least_ put this by the food station… You alright Arthur? You look pale and sweaty.”  
“I’m fine, Miss Grimshaw… I just-”  
“That _hooch_ is gettin’ to him!” she snaps at Dutch as she gives him a love tap across the back of his head, “you’re supposed to look out for him.”  
“ _That’s not hooch_ ,” Bessie smirks as everyone fires their stare at him in silence, “that’s the terrified expression of a boy with his first real date.”  
Arthur bows his head as the cheers and jeers roll over him. He can’t help but smile a little as the men come to pat his back, “Well look at that!” Dutch beams, “Finally found someone dumb enough to like your showmanship, huh?”  
“I guess.” Arthur shuffles uncomfortably.  
“Well, she got a name?”  
“Y/N.”  
“She got a _last name_ …?”  
“I imagine so… She didn’t tell me it.”  
“How old is she?”  
“… I-I don’t know...”  
“Did you actually have a conversation with this mysterious woman, or have you just had too much to drink?” Dutch teases.  
“ _She’s real_!” Arthur snaps, “I’m escortin’ her to a dance on Friday!”  
Cue the chorus of sarcastic “ooooooh”s that followed.  
“What a civilised gentleman you’re becoming, Arthur!” Trelawny sits back, legs crossed, puffing away at his pipe, “She should be _putty in your hands_ as long as you don’t trample her to death!”  
 _Shit_. Arthur was struck with utter horror. _A Dance_. You were going to expect _him_ to _dance_. He raises his head and stares wildly at the smirking faces around him, “What am I gonna do?!”  
“You’re gonna dance. You’re gonna say yes to anything she asks of you!” Hosea chuckles, “And you may actually come away with another chance to see her.”  
“I can’t dance!! Dancin’ is for girls!”  
“ _All of us_ can dance, _Arthur_.” Dutch reminds him with a stern glance, “If you want to be of any use socially you need to know how to dance with a lady.”  
“Then why ain’t you bothered to teach me yet?” he snaps, the panic rising in his system. This whole thing was becoming as frightening as his 16th birthday.  
“Because there has been enough things we needed to get you to learn first.” Hosea patted his shoulder.  
Dutch slaps his thighs and stands up, “Well, there’s no time like the present!” he marches towards his tent and with a scratch, starts up his gramophone, squeaking the needle to an apt tune; some violin piece that sounded screechy and unpleasant to Arthur’s untrained ear.  
“Ah! Elgar!” Dutch sighed pompously, “This is a good start!”  
Arthur winces as he watches Dutch jokingly dance an imaginary woman back to the group and jumps as he feels a hand grip his to pull him up, “Come on, dear boy!” Trelawny grabs him around the waist, one hand in his, “It’s easy once you know!”  
Arthur tries to wriggle free as the teacher plants a mocking kiss on the top of his hand, “This ain’t exactly helpin’!”  
“Oh hush now, just see what I’m doing; you have to hold her waist like so, and she’ll put her hand in yours, and follow your lead if you guide her firmly enough. You just need to make sure you don’t tread on her toes. Aaaand 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3…”  
Arthur looks down at his feet, desperately trying to keep them away from Trelawny’s.  
“Head up, good man! You don’t want her thinking you’re looking _elsewhere_!”  
“ _Christ_!” Arthur complains, “Why do people do this for fun??” as he scurries backwards awkwardly with every step.  
“You need to relax, dear boy!”  
“Easy for you to say,” he mutters, “I’m the one gettin’ shoved around while everyone’s laughin’ at me.”  
“Aaaaand perhaps a flourish if you’re feeling confident!” without warning Trelawny dips Arthur backwards, making the boy grip the man’s hand for dear life, one leg kicking in the air for balance as the audience applauds.  
“You know, this would make a lot more sense to me if I weren’t the _girl_ , Josiah!” Arthur suddenly realises, and shoves himself away, “You’re not interested in helpin’ me at all!”  
“Oh now, don’t be silly, Arthur,” Hosea coos, “you need to understand the girl’s side of things to be any good at leading!”  
“ _Hmpf_. Well, I think I’ve learned enough about that now, _thank you_.” He bristles, flattening down his shirt with an angry hand.  
“Here, Mister Morgan, let’s see if you have.” Susan Grimshaw stands opposite the petulant boy and curtsies sarcastically, waiting for him to approach.  
He scowls and shuffles sulkily towards her, almost hovering his hand on her waist while instructions were called from the side lines. He goes to step sideways and Susan doesn’t budge, “You need to be a little more _forceful_ than that, Mister Morgan,” she chuckles, “’less you want the girl to think she’s dancin’ on her own.”  
He sighs and nods and proceeds as commanded, his face beetroot in colour as he attempts to move his feet and Susan in time with the music, while not staring downwards.  
“Where is this dance?” Dutch calls as he stands next to Trelawny, watching Arthur, Susan, Hosea and Bessie dance around the fire with varying levels of grace.  
“Uh-uhm…” Arthur winces as he treads on Miss Grimshaw, “ _sorry_. Do I have to answer that _now?!_ I’m a little busy!” Another stomp on her foot leads to a clout on his arm.  
“The girl is gonna want some form of _conversation_ , Arthur!” Dutch laughs, “Can’t awkwardly parade her around the floor in silence all night. You’ll have to learn to do two things at once!”  
“ _For God’s SAKE!_ Mackinaw, _ALRIGHT?! Mackie’s Ranch!_ ”  
“Oh, that’s not far from here at all! That should be easy enough, I’ll show you on a map tomorrow.”  
Eventually, the music screeches to an end, and Arthur is freed from this torture for the evening. He stomps off to bed to lick his wounds and lie down restlessly, concerned for what the hell was in store on Friday.

Over the course of the week, the Gang help Arthur ready himself for the big day. There’s more enforced dance practice as well as an education in basic etiquette, “Don’t start that cocky nonsense, Arthur,” Dutch pushes; then he’s dragged into town to buy a suit that doesn’t look like it was stolen off a corpse.  
He takes himself away from the group to groom Tate ready for the next day, “C’mon, fella, lets try and make you look less raggedy.” He sighs as he brushes the old horse, small waves of nausea wash over him.  
“Are you doing alright, Arthur?” the soothing tones of Bessie hit his ear as she joins him.  
“I guess,” he shrugs, “I’m thinkin’ of maybe just not goin’.”  
“Tomorrow?! There is no way you are letting that poor girl down, Arthur Morgan! We have raised you _better than that!_ ”  
He puts the brush away and turns, “What if-” he looks around and drops his voice, “ _What if it’s all a trick?_ ”  
“What do you mean?”  
“What if it’s just some big joke she’s playin’?”  
Bessie laughs softly and rubs his arm, “Silly boy, why would it be?”  
He shuffles uncomfortably, looking at his feet as they scrape at the grass, “I weren’t exactly… _polite_ to her friends.”  
Bessie raises her eyebrows, “ _Arthur Morgan!_ ”  
“I know, I know. But she called me out on it…” he fidgets with his hands, “Look, don’t tell the others, but… It was her that suggested the whole thing. I didn’t do nothin’.”  
She folds her arms, “And _that’s_ why you think this is a trick?” her heart breaks a little as he nods; the boy who tries so hard to be a man. She pulls him to her and hugs him, “Arthur Morgan, you go to that dance and you have a _wonderful time!_ ”

Friday. You had been looking forward to this for the last five days, ever since you bullied that poor drunk boy into attending the dance. It would save you at least from enduring the company of your ex beau who would be in attendance, and you had managed to coerce quite a pretty young man.  
“Y/N?” Your father calls you from outside the barn where you’re helping decorate it for the festivities.  
“Yes Pops?”  
“What did you say this boy’s name was again that’s comin’?”  
“ _Arthur_!” you smile a little to yourself, allowing the excitement of seeing him again take over for a second.  
“Hmmm. How did you meet him?”  
“We’ve been over this, Pops,” you roll your eyes and meet him at the doorway, “I bumped into him after workin’.”  
“That’s what I’m havin’ problems with.” He scowls with soft eyes as he picks some hay from your hair, “he better not be trouble.”  
You laugh, “He’s just a kid, no older than the boys you got workin’ here!”  
“That don’t fill me with confidence, sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead, “Your brothers know all about him, just to be safe. Now, you might want to go scrub up. Your mama’s drawn a bath and your dress is ready for you.”  
You shake your head with a chuckle, hitch your skirts up and trudge back to the house, ready for whatever preening torture your mother has in store.

“ _Friday._ ” Arthur groaned, “Guess this is it.” He was battling with an odd concoction of pride and utter, utter terror for the day. Over the week he had divulged all he knew about the evening which, in turn, made him realise it was at _your father’s_ Ranch. “ _Jesus_.” He grumbled, “what am I _doin’?_ ” he hides his head in his hands and thinks back to your face in that bar, as hazy as his eyesight (and memory) had been, your bright complexion still flashed sharply in front of him. He couldn’t work out your age; though you looked young, your manner was far more akin to the attitude of the matriarchs in Camp; you hadn’t suffered his antics, and even cared to sober him up. He sat up and huffed, shuffling out of bed on the hunt for some lunch; the lack of sleep his brain had forced on him this week had left him to wake late today of all days.  
He spends the afternoon being the very example of useful; he takes on everyone else’s chores without a thought, just to keep his mind from the quickly approaching evening.  
“I think you best get yourself in that river, Arthur, before Miss Grimshaw has a fit.” Hosea chuckles as he looks on at the boy; his face streaked with dust and grime from his day, “Here. I got you these.” Arthur takes the brown box from him and opens it to find a small bar of Globe Soap and a bottle of cologne, “Just wash and splash some of that on your face after.  
“Ain’t this for shavin’? _Have I gotta shave??_  
Hosea laughs loudly, “ _Sure,_ I mean you probably would have to if you had anything on your face!” he pats at the light fluff at Arthur’s jaw line, “But I think you’ll be fine. Besides, women like a bit of facial hair these days.” He gives Arthur a wink and nudges him onwards.

You grimace in the mirror as your mother tugs at the knots in your hair, “I’m wearin’ it up anyway, do I really need you to scalp me?”  
“You wanna make a good impression don’t you?” she chuckles, “Let that boy see what you look like when you’re bein’ a young lady?”  
“Urgh, shut up, Mama!” you roll your eyes and wince as she pulls a little harsher at your roots.  
“Can you make sure Pops don’t set the boys on him? I mean, I know he’s new, but…”  
“Your father will be too busy schmoozin’ to even think twice, honey. I’d be worried about that Emmet, though. He ain’t got over you yet accordin’ to his mother.”  
That’s the last thing you wanted. He had been a mistake from start to finish; a romance that started because your parents were friends, and a misguided tawdry night had led to the young man being somewhat smitten, and you overwhelmingly disappointed.  
You fidget awkwardly in your seat as your mother takes to weaving a thick braid through your hair and curling it behind your head, “You’ve got so grown up sweetheart, not long until you turn eighteen. You should think about doin’ somethin’ more with your life than that _mill_.”

Arthur fumbles with the outfit he’s been made to wear for the evening. He wasn’t used to the need for a jacket that matched his pants, nor the coarseness of some form of tweed wool. He was itchy, and flustered; he thought he smelled like a spice merchant while his hair refused to stay in one direction, and he would be damned if he was going to shove that pomade on his locks. He stepped out of his tent with the look of a boy defeated, “I look ridiculous,” he announced to the world.  
“Nonsense! You look the very picture of dapper!” Trelawny cheered him on, “If I were a girl, I’d possibly _swoon_!”  
“Alright, knock it of-” Arthur stops dead as he looks up, “w-what’re you all doin’?” In front of him stood the family; all smiles and dressed to the nines.  
“We want to make sure you don’t get lost en route, son.” Dutch smiles, “Dressed so smartly like that could be dangerous traveling alone.”  
“Why are _you_ dressed like tha-”  
“Hush, Arthur, we’re just taking you to the dance and we’ll head out for the evening.” Hosea’s eyes twinkle mischievously as Arthur walks towards his horse.  
“You did a good job cleaning Taters up, Arthur.”  
“ _It’s Tate._ ” He whines through gritted teeth, “You promise you’re just gonna go before I get there, right?”  
“C’mon, or you’ll be late.”

You step out from your home and head to the barn, squirming in your stiffly starched teal-checked dress. It’s a far cry from the loose shirts and wool prairie skirts you’re used to, but you endure it for the night, if only to keep your folks happy. You see your father talking to the barman from your local Saloon by the mill, as he sets up a drinks station while the band tune their instruments.  
“Ah! Here’s my girl!” your father beams with pride as you slump your way towards him, “Ain’t you an absolute _peach_ this evenin’!” he hugs you tightly with one arm as he sups a beer with the other, “Mister Grayson here says he recalls your young fella.”  
You look apprehensively at the barman as he smiles knowingly, “Does he now?”  
“Oh don’t worry, Miss, I set your father straight.” He chuckled as he cleaned a glass, “he’s a regular in my place, ain’t never caused a ruckus.” He winks at you with a little nod. Grayson was an old friend of your father’s back from the War, and he knew that, despite his age, he could still wield a hefty axe or shotgun should there be need, and protecting his family was one of the few necessities that would call for it.  
“Now, Y/N, I need you out front with the Kitty for entry. We don’t want anyone sneakin’ in free of charge, do we?”  
“Ok Pops.”

After an hour’s ride, the silhouette of a large fenced-off Ranch looms at the horizon, the warm glow of lights and the distant sound of music and laughter hum on the breeze. Arthur stops and turns to his companions, “Okay, I’m guessin’ that’s it. You all can go on, I’ll be fine from here.”  
“ _Nonsense, Arthur!_ ” Hosea calls, “We can’t have you wandering up to the wrong place, getting your head shot off! Best make sure we’re not leaving you to the mercy of disgruntled farmers!”  
Arthur twists back in his saddle and shuts his eyes in despair as the five behind him snigger.

You sit at the table, smiling sweetly as people greet you, coins at the ready and an excitement in their voices as they enter the party. The music and beer was already flowing and your shiver slightly as a cool breeze brushes over your skin.  
“Your father got you workin’ the door?”  
“Hi Emmet,” you slouch.  
“You look a little cold there, Y/N. Take my jacke-”  
“I’m fine thank you,” you smile, “That’ll be five cents to come in.”  
“Oh, _really_?” he leans on your table, “Even for me?”  
“ _Even for you_.”  
“Even after our-”  
“ _Five Cents._ ”  
The man shoves the coins in your hand and slumps into the party. You look out towards the Ranch entry and see a group of people looking to hitch up.

“Alright, there’s a lotta people, there’s music playin’, _the sign at the entrance said, ‘Mackie Ranch’_. You can go. I’m here.” He looks out and sees a figure hurry towards him and wave through the darkness. He tenses up.  
“Well we should maybe meet this delightful creature scurrying towards us first.” Dutch coos.  
“Arthur! You found us!”  
“Yeeaaah I found you.” He squirmed as he dismounted from Tate, “It’s – errr- it’s good to see you again, Y/N.”  
You smile, “You too. It’s good to see that you are capable of standin’ this time.” You look up at the three horsemen behind him, and their two female companions, “I see you’ve brought some friends.”  
Arthur rubs his neck awkwardly, “Well, actually they were just leav-”  
“Good evening, Miss!” Dutch jumps down from his horse, leaving Miss Grimshaw to mind the reins, “Dutch Van der Linde. It is a _pleasure_ to meet you.” He takes a lowly bow, “I have heard such wonderful things about you.”  
You look at Arthur who is squeezing the bridge of his nose to the point of injury, his eyes clamped tightly shut, “Oh well that _is_ impressive, Sir, seein’ as I don’t recall much information changin’ hands durin’ my only encounter with Arthur.”  
Dutch roars with laughter and slaps Arthur’s back, “My, my! You are already a most likeable young lady! This is quite a party you have going’ on!”  
“Thank you, it’s an annual fundraiser… I’m afraid you have to pay for a ticket, but you’re more than welcome to attend.”  
Arthur jerks his head up and shakes it furiously, “No, no they already got plans this evenin’!”  
“I’m sure we can postpone our evening for another night, hello ma’am, I’m Hosea Matthews and that’s my delightful wife Bessie, Mister Josiah Trelawny, and the lovely Miss Susan Grimshaw. It is wonderful to meet you,” he shakes your hand, “and it would be _an honour_ to help contribute to such an important institution as our American Agriculturalists!”  
“Well, thank you, _all_ of you,” you beam, “You can take your horses to the paddock beside the barn, there’s plenty of space for them.”  
“Wonderful!” Dutch exclaims, “Arthur, would you like us to take _Taters_ for you, so you can escort this delightful young lady inside?”  
Arthur wants to die. His entire body prickles with embarrassment, “ _Sure._ You can take _TATE_.”  
“ _Errrsss,_ ” Dutch finishes, “Poor old horse won’t ever remember his name if you change it!” he re-mounts his own horse and takes the reins from Arthur’s already clammy hand, “We’ll see you inside, _son_!”  
You chuckle as the crew sidle past and wave, “They seem nice.”  
“Yeah, yeah, c’mon.” he takes your arm and twists you back towards the barn, hurrying to get as far away from that interaction as physically possible, avoiding your glances.  
You feel a little stung by his manner as he shoves you onward, “Wait. I gotta watch the door.” You wrench your arm from his hand.  
He huffs impatiently and looks back towards the paddock, his hands on his hips, eager to hide amongst the crowd inside, “but I’m here now, ain’t that the whole point?” He finally turns and looks at you as you stand by the table, your hands crossed defensively, and a scowl on your face. Beyond that he sees your hair tied back with the smallest of wisps playing around your rosy cheeks, your skin glows with the warm light that pours from the barn, and your dress hugs you as only he wished he could, “ _you look beautiful_.” He blurts out before his mind could stop him. He instantly regrets it as he sees you bite your lip with a smirk, “I-I’m sorry.”  
“For what exactly?” your voice softens as you drop your arms, “It better not be for tellin’ me I’m beautiful.” You take his hand gently and you see his eyes widen, “Go inside. I’ll get someone to take over.”

Arthur waits nervously on the inside of the door and looks out towards the throng. There’s a band on a makeshift stage at one end playing fast-paced string music, and a congregation of couples on the dance floor performing some sort of synchronised routine while the conductor called out directions. He gulps and feels the sweat begin to roll down the back of his neck as he feels a hard hand slap on his back.  
“ _What the hell is this?!_ ” he turns to Trelawny, “This ain’t what you taught me!”  
“No. It appears not!” Trelawny smiles as he claps his hands with the beat, “I mean, it is a _Barn Dance_ after all!” He spies a Poker table and quickly makes his way towards it.  
“ _You son-of-a-_ ”  
“You alright, Arthur?”  
He turns to you and flinches a smile, “Sure, sure. Just, err-uhm-” You look at the young man as he stands petrified at the entire room. He runs his hand through his thick blonde locks, and it leaves a small spike of hair sticking out the side of his head.  
You wrap your arm through his and squeeze it, “there ain’t a lot of room on the dance floor right now. Why don’t we get a drink and sit at a table?” you feel his body go slightly limp with relief as he nods and walks you carefully to the bar.  
He navigates the awkwardness of the Barman’s smirks and escorts you to a secluded table in a darker corner of the room, hoping it might save him from detection of his unwanted chaperones. You both sit in an uncomfortable silence as you stare out to the dance floor quietly sipping your drinks; you see him relax as he watches his friends laugh and dance alongside the strangers. You allow yourself to stare while he’s preoccupied. He really was a handsome young man; the tension seems to have drained from his face leaving his expression light and calm, his thick lips spread widely as he smiles at the familiar dancers with deep affection. He was still sat in his grey-brown tweed jacket which lay heavily over a crisp white shirt, the buttons undone slightly from his collar. Every so often he stretched and craned his neck as he glanced across to you. You felt him edge closer towards you, his knee brushing against your skirt and as you look down you see his little finger twitch nervously out towards your hand. You smile and thread your fingers with his own.  
Your locked grins are interrupted as Miss Grimshaw skips over, “You two should be up there enjoyin’ yourselves!” Arthur drops his head and sighs with a chuckle as the vaguely inebriated Grimshaw dances on the spot in front of them.  
“I guess it can’t get much worse than that,” he looks at you with a smile and stands, offering his hand. You take it as Miss Grimshaw whoops with approval and dances her way towards some maturing Cattle Drivers by the drinks.  
“Quite some characters you all are!” you chuckle as Arthur guides you towards the dancefloor.  
“They’re quite somethin’!” he confirms lightly, his manner far more natural now he’s almost certain this isn’t a trick. He follows your gaze towards Dutch as he chats enthusiastically with an older man.  
“They’re certainly makin’ an impression on my Pops.”  
Arthur locks up again and shoots a concerned look at you, “ _That’s your father?!_ ”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“ _Christ!_ ” he starts to hurry away from you and looks back apologetically, “’scuse me a moment.”

You look on concerned as you watch Arthur rush to the conversation.  
“ _So_ , he paid his _five cents_?” the stench of mixed spirits stings at your nose as Emmet leans beside you.  
“What do you want, Emmet?”  
“Just interested in your welfare is all, Y/N.” He shrugs as he takes a swig straight from the bottle of whiskey, “Surprised you’ve decided to pine after _some kid_ after all that time with me.”  
He brushes a tendril of hair from your face with a sloppy hand, and you feel the growl of anger begin to burn in your guts. You swipe his hand away, “considerin’ you’re nineteen now, you need to grow up.”  
“But it looks like you ain’t into grown-ups.” He leers  
“Ain’t none of your business _WHAT I’m into_!”  
“Was once upon a time.”

“… And might I say that this is a mighty fine legacy you have built for yourself!”  
“Dutch? What you doin’?”  
“Ah! _Arthur!_ ” he slaps his back, “This, _My good fellow_ , is my… _Ward_ , for want of a better term.”  
“ _Friend would do fine_ ,” Arthur mutters as he nods in greeting to your father.  
“So _you’re_ the one currently holdin’ my daughter’s affections, huh?” the man sways a little, his face is ruddy from the combination of alcohol and revelry.  
“Well, I-err, I certainly hope so, sir!” Arthur rubs his neck and laughs nervously.  
“I’ve been hearing good things about you, young man, _good things_!” he plonks a heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He had the overbearing presence of a military man, and muscular weight of a hard worker. He squeezes Arthur’s shoulder a little too tightly and leans into his face, “Which is _extremely lucky for you_.” He glares for a split second before jovially laughing once more with Dutch, “though you oughta watch out, kiddo, seems she’s in fashion right now!” Arthur turns back in time to see you swing a wild fist into the face of a man and watch him stagger backwards, “Oh for-” your father starts, “ _That damned girl!_ ”  
A small crowd has gathered beside you as you shake out your hand to try and ease the ache while Emmet stands aghast, cradling his jaw, you see your father thundering through the crowd towards you, _shit_.

Arthur and Dutch watch on from distance as you’re taken outside by your ear by your father, Dutch chuckles onto his cigar as the raised voices get drowned out by the music, “I can see why you like her, she’s not so different from you!”  
Arthur stares on at the doorway, though there’s nothing to see beyond the night, “looked like a pretty good punch,” he muses as Dutch hands him a beer.  
“How are you enjoying your first social gathering?”  
“Well, it’s certainly got more eventful now.”

You watch as your father returns to the party, frustrated that you won’t apologise to Emmet for your ‘ _unnecessary outburst_ ’ as he put it. You kick at the ground and turn to lean on the paddock fence, looking on at the horses as the gambol about.  
“Well you’re just full of surprises aintcha?” You look around and see Arthur smirking at you as he joins you.  
“It ain’t much of a surprise if you knew him.” You huff.  
“I take it you ain’t a fan?”  
“No. Not even when-” you stop yourself, realising who you were talking to.  
“Oh, I see.”  
“It were a while ago,” you mutter as you climb up to sit on the top of the fence, and massage your hand.  
“Ain’t none of my business!” Arthur leans on one shoulder and looks up at you, with a grin, “Sure hope it was worth your knuckles swellin’ up though.”  
“As soft as his _brain_ might be, his jaw sadly wasn’t.” you complain.  
Arthur chuckles and pulls a cotton cloth from his pocket, reaches through the fence gaps, dips it in the horse water trough and stands back up, “gimme your hand.” You tentatively reach out to him and he holds you at your wrist as he carefully wraps the cold wet fabric around your aching digits. You watch him as he puts all his focus into your injury; his lips pouting slightly as he concentrates on preventing you from feeling any more pain. His touch is so light; if it wasn’t for the warmth of his hands you wouldn’t be sure he held you at all.  
“ _Thank you_.” Your voice seems to have left you.  
“It’s nothin’.” He smiles as he joins you on the top of the fence, “I ain’t an expert on fancy occasions, but _fightin’_ , and what to do when you hit a fella too hard? Well I could write you a book!” he looks at you as you laugh, it’s infectious.  
You look behind you into the paddock and see the elderly horse Arthur arrived on, “So… _Taters?!_ ”  
Arthur buries his face in his hands, “ _Jesus Christ!_ ” he mumbles, “ _Yessss_.” He looks back up at you a little shamefaced, “I call him Tate though.”  
“Why did-?”  
“ _I didn’t_. He was a gift from Dutch and Hosea when I were 16. Said I should learn to have and care for my own horse. They chose the name for their own amusement, I guess.”  
“Well, it’s still a nice gesture,” you beam.  
“I know,” Arthur makes a click with his mouth and Tate lumbers over immediately, “he’s a pretty old man, I dunno how long he’s got left,” Tate nuzzles his shoulder and he pats his nose, “but he’s a good fella. He picked up my calls and such pretty fast.”  
You look on at him in wonder; his ability with the animal is beyond that of a teenager, “You seem to have a real knack for that.” You say as he sends Tate off.  
“I don’t know about that.” He mutters modestly and looks back towards the frivolities, “You wanna go inside?”  
“Not particularly,” you shrug, “I ain’t a fan of those things really.” It was getting late and the tones of the band had softened considerably to a slower pace as it warbled across the landscape.  
Arthur sighed and hopped down, “I believe we got a little side-tracked this evenin’.” He looks up at you and raises his hands expectantly.  
“ _Whaaat?_ ” you eye him cautiously  
“Well, frankly, I’ve spent the week bein’ humiliated by folk in the build up to tonight and I ain’t wantin’ it to be for nothin’.” He grins and wobbles his arms in an encouraging gesture, making you laugh. You place your arms on his shoulders and he carefully lifts you down by your waist, you’re surprised by his strength as he seems un-hindered by your body weight, then you see his brow furrow.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Well I weren’t taught what to do if the lady you’re dancin’ with has a bust up hand from fightin’!”  
“Shut up! I don’t wanna bust the other one on _your_ face!” you tease, blowing a raspberry at him.  
“Good point,” he nods, “I got an idea… _if it’s alright with you, Miss_?”  
“Depends.”  
He runs his hands down your bare arms from shoulder to wrist, and lifts them gently to rest around his neck. His breath quickens and the wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of shock returns as he tries to keep composed. He places his hands at your waist and tilts his head with a squint, making out the faint beat of the waltz on the breeze, and begins to sway you.  
“How old are you?” he suddenly asks loudly in your face, his nerves getting the better of him.  
“ _What?!_ ”  
“I was just wonderin’ your age.”  
“That ain’t somethin’ you’re supposed to ask a lady, Arthur!” you chuckle.  
“Maybe not an _old lady_ ,” he shrugs, “Just… I don’t getchu.”  
“I’m almost eighteen.”  
“Like me?!” he shakes his head as you nod, “But you seem – I mean… You ain’t like the girls in the ci-”  
“You grow up quick in the country,” you shrug as he continues to sway you, “city girls have the luxury of not havin’ to learn how to wing rustlers with bullets at the age of ten. Plus when you got older brothers, you have to toughen up as the only girl.”  
“ _Brothers?!_ ”  
“Yeah, they’re just over there!” you wave at them as the two stand at the doorway of the barn, arms folded; strapping men who obviously take after their father, “they’re all talk really.”  
“They’re certainly keen to look after you!” Arthur waves a cocky hand in their direction and they turn to make their way back to the dance, “you know, it’s kinda inconvenient you bustin’ your hand, I had this whole plan to do all these spins and dip you.”  
“ _Dip me?!_ ” you laugh.  
“I know, but I thought it would seem pretty nice.”  
You feel him start to shrink into himself again so you pull your arms tighter around him, “I guess you’ll just have to come back and show me another time.” Your closeness forces him to adjust the way he holds you, and you feel his hands run from the tops of your hips around to your back.  
“I guess I could do that.” The swaying has stopped as he stares into your eyes, his breaths are short as you push your nose onto his with a hazy grin, “Don’t want them lessons to go to waste,” his voice is husky and he stares at your mouth as it invites him to lean in. He licks his lips and pulls you to him.


End file.
